


Death of an Anthropolgist

by Toshua



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshua/pseuds/Toshua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's decision doesn't go unnoticed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death of an Anthropolgist

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to 852 Prospect in 2000. I really thought both guys would talk to me more. They didn't.

The grave was tiny, maybe 10" by 10" and not very deep. It was located under a tree in the park, next to a small stream. Carefully, Blair placed the lock box into the larger wood box. Next to the metal box containing the only copy of his dissertation, he placed another box full of computer disks, notebooks and a small stack of various magazines containing articles he'd written over the years. He settled back on his heels after he placed the lid on the box and firmly nailed it into place, using the butt of a knife, and a mouthful of tacks. He drove the blade of the knife into the ground beside him. 

"Guess I ought to say something," he muttered to the oak, looking up at the branches. The tree remained obligingly silent. "Okay, how about 'Dearly beloved, we're gathered here...', oops, wrong ceremony." Blair sighed, then gathered up a handful of dirt and sprinkled the box. "Here lies Blair Sandburg, Anthropologist, who gave his life in defense of his sentinel. How's that? Too whiny?" 

He shook his head at his conversation with the tree. "Here's one. 'Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.'" The tree rattled its branches in the evening breeze. 

"Better? Considering my soul's been taken?" Blair looked at the shadows hiding the box. "I would say something appropriately religious, but nothing comes to mind." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to dredge up the words spoken over Inchaca, but they wouldn't come. 

With a swift movement, he took the K-Bar knife stabbed in the ground next to him and sliced through the ponytail at the nape of his neck. He dropped it onto the box. 

"Rites of passage, man. How's the saying go; 'anything that doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.'" Using the K-Bar and his hands he pushed the dirt back into the hole and tamped it down, then carefully placed the cut piece of sod back into place. He pressed it into place, sealing the edges. Several large stones from the stream were added. 

Blair stood up and wiped the knife on his leg. He looked at the neat grave site, then at the tree rustling its approval. He ran his hand through the sheared locks and felt the straight, rough cut. 

"First thing in the morning, I'll have to see a hairdresser for sure." With one last look around and a quick swipe at his eyes, Blair Sandburg walked away from the past. 

In the shadows, from the other side of the park, his Sentinel watched the burial ritual with alarm. He'd just barely caught a glimpse of Sandburg carrying something as he had entered the park as Ellison pulled up to the apartment building. 

Jim Ellison had followed his partner at a distance, afraid to interfere, but more afraid to ignore what was happening. He'd watched and listened to the proceedings from the shadows, feeling his heart break when his finely honed knife had sliced though the ponytail and the bundled curls had fallen into the hole with a small sound. 

After Sandburg walked away, Ellison approached the site. He looked at the grave, then at the tree guarding it. 

"You know, I can't leave it like this. There will come a time when he'll regret his actions." 

Two yellow eyes blinked at him from a tree branch. 

Jim knelt and pushed the rocks aside. He dug through the damp soil until his fingers found a strand of curly hair. He carefully freed the bundle, still intact with the hair tie around it. He shook the dirt free, then tucked it into a jacket pocket. More digging freed the box and Jim lifted it from the hole, brushed it off. 

"I'll put this in my foot locker, next to my ribbons. Maybe, someday, we can laugh about it." He heard a purr over his head. Jim filled the hole back in and placed the stones back in place. Then he tucked the box under his arm and started toward home. 

End


End file.
